


say you’ll remember me

by 100hearteyes



Series: we were built to fall apart (then fall back together) [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 15:44:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5133155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100hearteyes/pseuds/100hearteyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke keeps being haunted by dreams about a lover she does not recall ever having had.<br/>When her friends plan a Halloween trip to an old abandoned house, Clarke feels herself going crazy at all the horrors only she seems able to see — and a connection only she will be able to make.</p>
            </blockquote>





	say you’ll remember me

**Author's Note:**

> I suck at summaries x) but yeah, this is basically my (very late) Halloween fic — also the reason why WB wasn't updated last week.
> 
> ~Important but spoilery: it's a happy ending — truly and completely — please trust me~
> 
> I'll be writing without any kind of planning, just the crazy reveries of my wacko mind, so I hope you like it! :)

_All she sees are those big green eyes, as fascinating and beautiful as they are disturbing. Almost blue in the dark, almost grey when they are sad. Engulfed by gold when she loves and desires._

_All she sees is a river crossing the forest, a stoic flower beneath the foliage of the trees, an impetus with every stroke of the flowing water. Green and blue, intertwined like the fingers of two wanting hands, like the threads of two blossoming souls._

_All she sees is a brimming heart; the rose petals drawn in a smile, the sphinx nuzzling against the crook of her neck, the verdant gems glimmering like diamonds, the cocoa waterfalls framing the most beautiful picture of all._

_All she sees is the woman she loves, beautiful, gentle and caring, like a cherry tree flower caressed by the light summer breeze._

_That is all she sees._

_All she saw._

“Clarke, wake up. It’s Halloween.”

She groans and buries her face deeper into her pillow. “Just five more minutes, Mom…”

“You got the private parts wrong, Princess.”

She finally lifts her head off the pillow and chances a look at he who dared ruin her sleep. “Fuck off, Bellamy.”

He laughs and decides to ask for backup.

“Hey O! Come and tickle grumpy cat’s feet,” Bellamy calls, freckles smiling and mop hair all over the place.

Some seconds later, a very feisty but small brunette shows up with a devilish grin. “I hear my tickling talents are required,” Octavia says.

“No!” Clarke squeaks getting up in a jolt and running away from the Blake siblings. “Back off, psychos!”

The Blake’s simply look at the blonde and then at each other and laugh. “I told you it would work,” Bell tells his sister.

“Yeah like it wasn’t my idea the first time we used this trick,” Octavia points out with annoyance.

Clarke rolls her eyes. A Blake smugness battle is due.

“Just take your petty fights outside, please?” she pleads. “I need to shower and get dressed.”

“We can wait here, we’ve each seen you naked dozens of times,” Octavia says pointedly.

The girl and Bellamy are like the siblings Clarke never had. Sometimes accidents happen, especially given that the pair seems unfamiliar with the concept of knocking. They are always barging in and out of Clarke’s bedroom like it is theirs. In all fairness, the blonde also doesn’t seem to be familiar with the concept of locking the door.

Bellamy is possibly her best friend in the world.

Even so, she shoots them a glare that leaves no room for discussion.

Bellamy raises his hands in surrender and Octavia groans, but they end up on the other side of the door within the minute.

While getting dressed, Clarke remembers her dream. It is a weird one, like the last thirty-one have been.

Since the beginning of the month, Clarke has been having weird dreams, all about the same thing. Or person.

A girl with eyes like the forest and lips like a rose button. Kind and gentle, stoic and fierce, loving and brutal. With secrets hidden between the closed petals of the rose in her lips and pain the underneath the leaves of the trees in her eyes.

A girl that Clarke has never seen in her life and yet is strangely familiar to her, like a faded photograph shoved inside a drawer to keep human eyes from landing on it ever again.

Like a memory she’s meant to have and forced to forget.

Clarke shakes those thoughts away and focuses on the day ahead of her.

It’s Halloween, the spookiest and craziest day of the year in everyone’s books.

In Clarke’s, it’s just another day. Scratch that: it’s worse than every other day.

She doesn’t know why she dislikes it, she just does. She knows — or feels — it’s an important and valid reason, but she just can’t put her finger on it.

Like she forgot something she was supposed to remember for the rest of her life. Like she can’t find the longest and most painful scar in her body.

_Scars in her body._

 

Clarke’s eyes widen. This is new.

The dreams have been confined to her sleep so far, but this was clearly a ripple vision. She guesses it’s a psychological repercussion of Halloween and braces herself for more flashes of ‘the girl’ during the day.

Done getting dressed, Clarke leaves her room to find the Blake siblings and three more people standing in the living room.

Raven, with her Hispanic complexion and scenic long dark hair, is possibly the most outstanding person Clarke has ever met. Her genius knows no limit, either do her beauty and smugness, but there’s always an ache in her eyes and a scar in her smile.

Jasper is… Jasper. Crazy and girl-crazed though there are few friends as good as him.

Monty is the epitome of calm and kindness, his few words always meaningful and his observant eyes never missing a detail.

This is a weird group of friends Clarke has concocted, the best she could have nonetheless.

However, it always feels like there’s just _one_ piece missing.

“So, ready for Halloween, people?” Jasper grins widely, as excited as ever for his favourite day of the year.

Everyone cheers excitedly. Well, maybe Clarke simply fakes excitement and a smile. She doesn’t want to curb her friends’ enthusiasm.

“Everyone has to dress up,” Monty adds, chancing a glance at Clarke, who is ready to rebut. “Everyone.”

Clarke rolls her eyes and blows a strand of hair from her eyes.

“And everyone has to dress up in the costumes _we_ chose for each of you,” Jasper finishes with a big smile. “But you’ll have time to do it on the jet.”

“Wait, did you just say _jet_?” Bellamy cuts in.

“The perks of having super rich parents who give you an unlimited budget for Halloween,” Jasper replies, a self-satisfied smirk in his lips.

Raven shrugs. “Can’t complain.”

“So when are we going?” Octavia asks excitedly.

Monty checks his watch. “Right about… now.”

 

* * *

 

_She traces the patterns with her fingers, eyes fluttered closed, each line long etched in her memory._

_A smile finds its way to her lips as she feels the goose bumps under her fingertips._

_“Clarke.”_

_That voice that still makes her shiver at its sound._

_“Clarke,” her lover repeats, like her name is sacred. “I love you.”_

_She grins and brushes the marred skin with her lips, leaving a gentle and loving kiss on the edge of every stroke coating her bare back._

_She loves her too._

Clarke wakes up unwillingly, the shadow of another dream dripping from her feet.

“How was your beauty sleep, Princess?”

Clarke reaches for the pillow under her head and throws it at Bellamy, who easily stops it. “Stop calling me that!”

He laughs tosses the pillow back to her.

“Hey children, you can stop now,” Raven chimed in. “Time to dress up.”

Less than an hour later, they are standing in front of a big old house, a rather shady-looking forest behind them and the late afternoon sky cut by the early screams of auguring crows.

“Why the hell are we in this house and what the fuck are these costumes?” Clarke grunts, looking down at herself.

“Why am I a witch?” Raven asks, her arms crossed and glowering at Jasper and Monty, the former especially.

Octavia chuckles. “I wonder why,” she sneers.

“Like you’re much better off, Countess Boobula,” Raven counters.

“Guys, stop fighting,” Bellamy intervenes, clad only in a ridiculous furry vest, with skinny pants and wolf ears popping from his head. “As much as we would like to kill Jasper,” he stares daggers at his friend, ”we will have to stick with these costumes and have the night of our lives regardless.”

“And why am I a pirate?” Clarke asks. “It’s not even like they’re scary.”

Jasper, who is donning an astronaut suit, does not bother with the question, stepping towards the house instead. Monty, in his King Kong onesie, follows suit.

It’s not long before the six of them are inside the house.

It has a rather large main hall, with double doors to several big rooms and a majestic stairwell to a second floor, which looks down at ground level. The lighting is dim, everything presents a blue tint and the curtains, all drawn close, are covered in dust and spider webs.

“This place is too perfect,” Octavia squeals with a wild grin.

“That’s not exactly the word I would use,” Raven says.

“How about too creepy?” Bellamy suggests.

Clarke turns to the boys that organised the whole trip.

“Jasper, Monty… I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

Jasper shrugs off her worries. “Don’t worry, miss pirate. No one has lived here in decades, it’s been abandoned since the last owners died.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Look, I came here twice, once with Monty. It’s 100% safe.”

“It better be,” Clarke murmurs, a weird feeling taking over her.

Like she’s not alone.

Like she has been here before.

Like this house is a long forgotten tattoo on imperfect skin, story of her life.

 

_Tattoo on imperfect skin._

“Monty,” she pleads with the wiser boy, hoping he will hear the whispers of her fear, see the fear in her voice, feel her voice fade into the whispers of the old bloodcurdling house.

He doesn’t. “Clarke, trust me. We are safe here,” he assures her.

The shiver that goes up her vertebrae, like a cold finger tracing the trace of her spine, says otherwise.

The chilling green eyes that daunt her thoughts, vicious, possessed and afraid, tell a different story too.

 

* * *

 

_She loves her hair._

_Brown, long, wild, a scent that flowers would envy._

_She likes to braid it for her, a ritual repeated every morning, a small token of their love. She likes to feel it in her hands, rake her fingers through it, let each coffee lock slide against her fingertips._

_She likes waking up to its bothersome length as much as holding on to it for dear life each time she’s closing is on the edge._

_Most of all, she loves the feeling of it between her thighs._

 

“Clarke, wake up!”

She jumps awake, glaring at her friends. “What happened?”

“You dozed off, Griffin,” Raven smirks. “We were all sitting around and suddenly you just closed your eyes and fell asleep for several minutes.”

Clarke looks out of the window in one of the side halls to the right of the main one. Night has come and she feels no more relaxed than before.

Her five friends are all having fun, drinking and telling scary stories like they don’t feel the ghosts inhabiting this house.

Clarke thinks maybe they really don’t.

Maybe it’s only her. Whether because her mind is playing Halloween tricks on her or she is the only able to see the cursed tears this house cries, remains a mystery.

With each passing minute, she prays harder and harder that it’s the first option.

“I’m going to tell you the scariest story I have ever heard,” Jasper teases, already tip toeing on inebriation. “Imagine your whole existence is suddenly erased from History and you are the only one in the world who knows — who knows you exist. Wouldn’t you start doubting your own realness?”

Bothered by the premise, Clarke stands up and drags Monty with her, who seems rather uncomfortable with the story as well.

“Let’s take a tour of the house,” she suggests with certain unease.

“You know, that’s usually how people disappear in the movies,” he chuckles softly. Clarke loves Monty, he’s the calm among the storms that are all his friends, the blonde included.

“Maybe I should have brought Jasper instead of you then,” she smirks.

“Jasper would love to be the knight in shining armour,” Monty points out.

“I was thinking more along the lines of expendable and less tragic death.”

Both laugh at that and stop in the main hall.

“Should we go upstairs?” he suggests pointing at the stairs.

She shrugs: why not? Maybe if she checks the whole house the sombre blue drapes will stop dripping fear.

They walk up the to the first floor and find that there is a long hall on each side of the staircase.

“Right or left?” Monty asks courteously like he’s chaperoning her.

“Right,” she tries, giving in to the ghostly laments murmured into her ears.

Right they follow, entering a hall with doors strewn all along its walls.

Monty tries every door, unmoving knob after unmoving knob. They reach the end of the hall quite quickly and to their surprise, the last two doors, one facing the other, give in to Monty’s gentle turn of the wrist.

They look at each other, curiosity ruthlessly feeding on fear in both their gazes.

“You enter one, I enter the other?” Monty suggests with an avid smile.

Clarke wants to say no. A light shake of the head will do.

“Yes.”

She curses herself for that word but can’t bring her lips to speak again.

The door to her left has a gloomy appeal to it, like a silent request for attention. Her hands move alone to rest on the doorknob.

Monty takes that as a sign that Clarke has chosen her door. With a curious glint in his eyes, he opens his door and enters the room, disappearing into an obscurity the blonde has no time to inspect, for she too is now being engulfed by darkness.

She finds a light switch and flips it, light draping shadows all over the room.

It’s a bedroom, with a queen size bed in centre and big mirrors surrounding it, vanity misting the room.

Clarke walks over to one and admires herself. She has no pretence to fake modesty. She is beautiful.

However, her eyes shed unseen tears of a loss she knows nothing of.

Unable to look at herself any longer, she glances around again and her eyes find a picture frame sitting on the nightstand.

She approaches and takes it in her hands, chancing a look into someone else’s privacy. This is someone that died. Someone whose life she is prying into, probably to find nothing at all.

It is not nothing that she finds.

Her eyes widen at the sight of _her_. The girl. Her dream — maybe nightmare, as though those are blissful moments, they always feel stained by overwhelming hopelessness and tragedy.

Her breath deepens and her heartbeat quickens and that’s when she hears the scream.

His name never has to leave her lips for the voiceless ghouls of this house already know whom to call for.

Clarke runs out of _her_ bedroom and storms into the one right in front of it, alarmed and unable to think straight.

There he is.

Lying down, the pool of blood a rich tapestry of innocence and smiles. A body hovering over him.

A grotesque body at that. Hairy, deformed, with a hunched back and a stance like that of a monkey.

The creature snaps its head to the new presence in the new room and its glaring eyes piece into Clarke’s.

Never has home felt so agonising.

The creature growls in rage and launches its savage body into Clarke. The last things she sees are cutting teeth and the curse in its eyes.

 

* * *

 

_She is a raging tornado, her lover a silent storm._

_She is thunder, her lover pouring rain._

_She is a scream, her lover a whisper._

_She is every word, her lover every silence._

_She is a ravishing crash of lips and hips, her lover a wondering touch and doting kiss._

 

“Clarke, wake up!”

She jumps awake, glaring at her friends. “What happened?”

“You dozed off, Griffin,” Raven smirks. “We were all sitting around and suddenly you just closed your eyes and fell asleep for several minutes.”

Clarke looks out of the window in one of the side halls to the right of the main one. Night has come and she feels no more relaxed than before.

Her four friends are all having fun, drinking and telling scary stories like they don’t feel the ghosts inhabiting this house.

Clarke thinks maybe they really don’t.

One ghost in particular hovers over her shoulder, a face maybe she has seen before but is not meant to know.

She knows who it is. She knows he’s supposed to be sitting in that circle. She knows he’s supposed to exist.

She wants to warn them, scream “Where’s Monty,” do something, anything, to break the normalcy.

But somehow it doesn’t feel important.

It feels like a line you accidentally skip but isn’t important to understand the story. It feels like a minor detail. An unnecessary footnote.

Maybe the blood dribbling down the chandelier is only for her eyes to see.

“Me and Raven are going to tell you the scariest story we have ever heard,” Octavia teases, already tip toeing on inebriation. “Imagine your whole existence is shrunk down to someone else’s dream. How can you be sure you’re real and not just the product of their reveries and imagination?”

Bothered by the premise, Clarke stands up and drags Jasper with her, who whines but eventually follows.

They reach the main hall in silence, the boy still annoyed at having to miss Raven and Octavia’s horror story.

“Let’s explore.” Clarke is surprised at the words coming out of her mouth. She doesn’t really want to say them. “Upstairs.”

Jasper beams at the possibility, suddenly excited at the prospect of missing story time. “Exploring a creepy house is so much cooler than hearing their lame horror stories,” he says eagerly. “Come on!”

He grabs her hand and leads her running up the stairwell, enthusiasm plastered all over his face. The ghost never loses track of them.

Once on top of the stairs, they are faced with a decision.

“Right or left?” Jasper asks.

“Left,” Clarke says, her eyes following the bloody footsteps on the carpeted floor.

She wonders why no one else can see them.

“Left it is.”

The hall is mostly plane, cut here and there by doors leading to who knows where. Jasper is trying excitedly at every door; wanting to push into whatever fantastic secrets they hold.

She feels each wooden portal cry out at each vane twist of a doorknob.

Only the last two doors give in and that feels strangely familiar. Like she has been through this before.

“We enter each room _together_ ,” she grits through her teeth, unsure why she is even being that strictly careful.

Jasper nods and opens the door, letting her go in first.

She steps in and her jaw drops to the floor. It’s a doll room, hundreds of unrepeated dolls and toys littering the shelves and the floor ahead of her feet.

Some look cute and adorable, happy even.

Others make her insides scream.

Every eye seems to turn to her, observing her every step. She grabs onto Jasper’s bicep in dread.

“Can you see them?” she asks in a jittery voice.

“See what? The dolls? I’d have to be blind no to see them, Clarke,” he laughs.

“No. The eyes…”

He arches an eyebrow. “Yeah they have eyes, so what? Would be pretty creepy if they didn’t.”

He crouches before a rather creepy-looking porcelain doll and inspects it.

“Look.” Clarke’s attention turns to the label he’s prodding out of the doll. “LW. Who do you think that could be?”

“The child that used to play with them?”

“Or maybe the girl that never got to,” he points out in low voice, grave features shadowing his deep dark eyes.

Girl. That pokes at Clarke like a needle. “What makes you say it was a girl?”

“The fact that she’s in the only picture in the room.”

Only then does Clarke notice the small round four-legged table on which sits a lonely picture frame, dust sleeping away the years over the darkened wood.

She takes tentative steps towards the picture and takes it in her hands, wiping the mumbling dust away. Each swipe of her hand over the frame makes the toys’ eyes widen in despair.

Behind the glass there is a little girl’s face, all curly brown hair, happy plump-lipped smile and piercing green eyes.

She doesn’t need the air that got caught in her throat to tell her it’s _her_. The girl. Her dream — maybe nightmare, as though those are blissful moments, they always feel stained by overwhelming hopelessness and tragedy.

“Let’s try the other room, Clarke,” Jasper says, snapping her out of the daze. “This one’s creeping me out.”

Her head whips back in shock, only to see him already out of the door and running towards the one in front.

Just as she’s setting the picture back down on the little table, a horrible scream cuts through the silence and sets her immediately on her feet.

She’s quick to reach the other room, a vain exercise of mirrors training every open space, a familiar sensation she cannot quite shake.

One she cannot dwell on however, as Jasper is currently being held up by long-fingered furry hands, white teeth scraping over the sweating skin on his neck.

In one swift movement, the creature swipes its mouth along the width of Jasper’s neck, slitting his throat. He falls on his knees, his eyes lifeless, and collapses onwards like one of the dolls in the other room.

Clarke knows it’s her turn now.

The creature looks up at her and into her eyes. Its gaze is sharp, inquisitive and maybe even confused, as if something — or someone — is out of place.

The creature’s tongue prods out of its mouth to lick the remnants of blood still on its lips. Then it snarls at Clarke and launches forward in a ruthless attack.

The last things she sees are claws like sickles and the conflict in the beast’s eyes.

 

* * *

 

_“Clarke.”_

_There is nothing she loves more than the way her lover says her name._

_Whenever the word flourishes from her lips, she feels sacred. Like a crest of gold in the bottom of the ocean. Like a sincere prayer in an atheist’s lips. Like the intangible love mere mortals forever yearn for._

_In her lover’s lips, she feels immortal. Like a line etched in History for all future civilisations to read. Like an undying prophecy the world wishes will come true. Like a name engraved in stone that not even time can fade to dust._

_With her name in her lover’s lips, she feels desired. She feels wanted. She feels loved. She feels home._

_She feels truly like herself for once in a lifetime of travelling from lip to lip and never feeling like she deserved a name._

“Clarke, wake up!”

She jumps awake, glaring at her friends. “What happened?”

“You dozed off, Clarke,” Octavia smirks. “We were all sitting around and suddenly you just closed your eyes and fell asleep for several minutes.”

Clarke looks out of the window in one of the side halls to the right of the main one. Night has come and she feels no more relaxed than before.

Her three friends are all having fun, drinking and telling scary stories like they don’t feel the ghosts inhabiting this house.

Clarke thinks maybe they really don’t.

Two ghosts in particular hover over her shoulder, faces maybe she has seen before but is not meant to know.

She knows who they are. She knows they’re supposed to be sitting in that circle. She knows they’re supposed to exist.

She wants to warn them, scream, “Where are Monty and Jasper,” do something, anything, to break the normalcy.

But somehow it doesn’t feel important.

It feels like a smudge in a painting no one really ever notices or a colour out of place in a hundred-feet long tapestry even trained eyes are bound to miss.

She prays that it’s the Halloween jitters tricking her when her eyes find tears burnt into the tall mirror on the wall behind her friends.

“I’m going to tell you the scariest story I have ever heard,” Bellamy teases, already tip toeing on inebriation. “Imagine everyone forgets about you, except you. Are you actually real or just the fragment of a long gone memory?”

“God, not another hipster scary story,” Octavia groans. “What happened? The hipsters lost their bowties? Horrifying,” she scoffs.

“It’s a good story, O,” he rebuts, crossing his arms with a pout. “And if you don’t want to hear it, I’ll just tell Clarke and Raven.”

“You know I hate scary stories, Bell,” the blonde reasons.

“Alright, I’ll just tell Raven then.”

“Yeah I think I’ll pass.” The mechanic rose to her feet and extended a hand to each of her girlfriends, “Ladies, would you like to go for a walk?”

Both O and Clarke took the hand that was offered to them and stood up, each curling an arm around one of Raven’s.

“I guess you’ll have to tell that story to the walls,” Octavia teased her brother as the trio began to make their way to the main hall.

“I bet they’re better listeners anyway!” Bellamy exclaims from his sitting spot, and begins spitting out his scary tale for no one to hear.

The three friends reach the main hall and come to a halt. The ghosts creeping behind Clarke’s shoulders motion to the divisions on the left of the entrance hall.

“Where to?” Raven asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Left,” Clarke mutters blankly, her mind following the excruciated far cry. The other two nod and head left with her.

Again, she wonders why no one else seems to see, hear or feel the things that make this house haunted.

She doesn’t know why she doesn’t turn and run away. Something lures her deeper into the house in spite of the absolute dread she feels with each step she takes. Like Aurora walking towards the spindle, Clarke feels entirely drained of her volition as she further explores the house.

“Hey Clarke, maybe you will find a hot ghost in this house,” Octavia teases. ”You haven’t been with anyone since Finn so I bet even a spirit would be able to satisfy you by now.”

“I have been with someone since Finn, don’t you remember—“ she trails off, completely unaware of what she was about to say. There was no one since Finn.

“Hang on, you were with someone since Finn?” Raven repeats in shock.

“No!” the blonde exclaims. “I don’t know what got over me, there was no one since him, you know that.”

“With your wacky thing for privacy, for all we know you could have married the love of your life and we’d still be here trying to hook you up with someone,” Octavia complains.

 

_The love of her life._

 

“Of course O, that’s exactly what happened,” Clarke retorts rolling her eyes.

The trio takes downward stairs at the end of a hall, finding a kitchen. They look around at the dusted counters and utensils but only Clarke seems to be deafened by the sound all those pans and pots make as they incessantly clank against each other.

“We should never have even come to this house,” she grumbles. “Feels like a freaking horror movie. And I’ve seen enough to know that this is when we run.”

“Oh woman up, Griffin,” Raven laughs. “It’s an abandoned kitchen. So what? I haven’t seen any pots flying or strange moans from afar yet. And the only ghost I see is you.”

Clarke’s eyes widen in fear and surprise. How can they not hear the ear-splitting orchestra of kitchen apparatuses? “Don’t you—“

“Shut up!”

The other two look at Octavia, who has lifted a finger to her lips in a silencing sign.

“Looks like Octavia heard your scary beasts, Clarke.”

“Shush, Rae!” Octavia exclaims. “Can’t you hear that?”

The three’s ears perk up, hoping to hear whatever the tiny brunette heard.

Clarke hears it. Footsteps, tittering claws clicking against the floor, like a frightful ticking clock, strolling towards them from a distant room, getting dangerously closer and closer and closer… and closer.

“Bellamy?!” Raven calls out. “Is that you?!”

No answer comes back, as Clarke was already half-expecting and surprisingly only half-dreading.

“Bell, this is not funny!” Octavia yells in an angry voice. “Bellamy…?”

“It’s not Bellamy,” Clarke murmurs vacantly and a horrific roar makes the walls quake and the floor

The other two turn to her, eyes widened it terror.

Octavia runs to the entrance of the kitchen to check how close the source of the sound really is while Clarke and Raven search for objects they can use against whoever or whatever is coming for them.

A piercing cry cuts the air and the two armed girls turn to the door, finding Octavia stranded by strong hairy arms and a paw holding a tight grip on her neck. The girl’s eyes are bulging out in panic.

Clarke feels her insides die and her legs falter as she looks into the beast’s eyes. She knows she has seen it before, she knows she _knows_ the monster.

“Please let her go,” Clarke begs, a silent pledge in her cerulean gaze. The beast’s grip on Octavia loosens, but the girl is not yet free. “Please.”

The sound the beast lets out is a lamenting howl, tears in the bawling voice, as if it’s acting against its will. As if it’s prisoner of its own barbarity. Its eyes, green and conflicted, bore into Clarke’s own and beg for forgiveness and understanding.

It makes the blonde’s anger waiver. How can she hate a creature with such agony and passion in its stare? How can she hate a creature with such troubled humanity in its eyes? How can she hate a creature that feels so painfully familiar?

“Please don’t hurt her,” Clarke whispers, speaking with such softness that she startles herself.

The creature’s eyes close, like it’s unable to look into Clarke’s, and it slashes Octavia’s throat, dropping her on the floor.

Raven screams in rage and attacks the creature with a pan in her hands.

The monster stops the movement of the utensil with ease and then lifts Raven by the neck with its other paw.

“Please stop!” Clarke cries, tears filling her eyes, grabbing the beast’s attention. “Stop! I know you’re not like that, so please stop!”

The creature looks away dejectedly and snaps Raven’s neck with a violent shove.

Clarke feels her guts coming out, every content in her stomach spilling onto the floor.

Her friends are gone.

When Clarke looks up, green eyes among long, wire-hard, toasted yellow fur fill the frame. She swallows the scream that wants to thump out of her lips and her blue eyes widen in terror.

Her fear is soothed though as she sees the naked kindness in the greyish green gaze. How can this be the same creature that just killed her friends?

Clarke feels an intense pull to this monster and when the two ghosts in her back rest their hands on each of her shoulders, she has to gulp down the need to extend her arm and reach out to that face, those strong cheekbones covered in fur and that cutting jawline of orange-y yellow.

Which makes it all the more surprising when suddenly the beast’s arms are around her, comforting her in a strong but gentle hold that can only be described as a hug.

She relaxes into it, surprising herself with how familiar it feels, how _right_. Her head rests against the snug furry chest of the creature; her eyes flutter close, tears now concealed within, all pain forgotten for a fleeting blissful moment.

And then her neck snaps.

 

* * *

 

_She slides her fingers over the sharping jawline, one of her favourite activities._

_She passes her index over the defined cheekbones, feeling the eyebrows above her finger shiver at the light touch._

_She brushes her thumb over the plum lips, feeling every tiny slit and alluring bump._

_She kisses the shut eyelids tenderly, leaning back to see them open and reveal dark eyes, the green overtaken by the dilated pupils._

_She feels the gentle brush of lips against her own and knows that only a disaster can separate them._

_And it did._

“Clarke, wake up!”

She jumps awake, glaring at her friend. “What happened?”

“You dozed off, Princess,” Bellamy smirks. “We were sitting in front of each other and suddenly you just closed your eyes and fell asleep for several minutes.”

Clarke looks out of the window in one of the side halls to the right of the main one. Night has come and she feels no more relaxed than before.

Her friend seems to be having fun, drinking and smiling like he doesn’t feel the ghosts inhabiting this house.

Clarke thinks maybe he really doesn’t.

Four ghosts in particular hover over her shoulder, faces she has definitely seen before but is probably not meant to know.

She knows who they are. She knows they’re supposed to be sitting with her and her best friend. She knows they’re supposed to exist.

She wants to warn him, scream, “Where are our friends,” do something, anything, to break the normalcy.

But somehow it doesn’t feel important.

It feels like another grey thread the Fates will cut in half with their long-bladed scissors, another soul that will enter the underworld without a story to leave behind.

She knows it’s not just her mind playing Halloween when she sees the claw marks reaping at every wall in the room.

“I’m going to tell you the scariest story I have ever heard,” Bellamy teases, already tip toeing on inebriation. “Imagine one day your existence is erased from the memories of everyone you love. Would you rather carry on living as this nonexistent monster or end your life completely?”

“Bell,” she uses his name impatiently. “You know I hate those stories.”

“Well, you’re the only friend I have, so you’re the only one I can tell them to.”

“Tell them to the walls,” she says, standing up.

Clarke starts walking out of the room. Bellamy stands up too and runs to fall in step with her.

“No way I’m leaving you alone in this god forsaken madhouse,” he guarantees.

She chuckles and examines the main hall, the four ghosts with familiar faces floating around them.

“So what do we do now?”

He smirks smugly. “Whatever the hell we want.”

“Tell me again why I agreed to come alone to an abandoned house with you?”

“Because I’m your best and probably only friend and you trust me completely?”

“Good,” she remarks, heading to the halls on their left. “I was beginning to think you drugged me.”

“Clarke, I’m your best friend,” he replies, feigning hurt. “I would never drug you.”

She laughs heartily. “Want to rethink that? Remember that time you drugged me to hitch me up with Le—“

He looks at her, confusion in his freckled features. “You must be mistaking me for someone else. I’m hurt,” he mocks. “And who’s Le?”

Clarke blinks repeatedly and frowns at the floor, the word lost in meaning. “I… I don’t know. I have no idea,” she mumbles. “It’s like I’m telling a story that isn’t mine — but at the same time it is.”

“Maybe I did accidentally drug you, Princess, because you’re talking nonsense,” he laughs.

Her expression lights up and a scorning smile makes its way to her lips. “See? I knew I was right not to trust you.”

They walk for some minutes until they reach a long hall with a door at the end of it. It is a shady-looking door, one no sane person would try to open. It is the only door Clarke feels tempted to.

“Clarke, wait!”

Bellamy runs to her and puts his hand over hers, stopping her from turning the doorknob. She looks at him inquiringly.

“Let me go first,” he asks.

The best friends smile at each other and Clarke lets him open the door and enter the darkness.

She hesitates before following suit, taking time to look at her ghosts for assurance. They nod serenely so she finally takes a step towards the dimness of what seems to be a cellar.

The time Clarke wastes seeking a sense of security, however, is enough for Bellamy to get lengthily ahead of her and an aching scream to drill into her ears.

She runs down the stairs, skipping a few steps and tripping on others, the four ghosts soaring behind her.

The lights turn on, illuminating the basement, and Clarke sees Bellamy sitting on the floor, dread in his eyes, a beastly body hovering over him.

The creature finally notices Clarke and growls her way, but it feels more like a warning than a threat. _Go away_ , she feels it saying.

But it’s her best friend that's on the ground and she can’t just leave him there without a fight. She won’t.

“Leave him alone, you monster!” she yells and knows is not much, but maybe that will provide Bellamy with a distraction and he can run away.

The beast looks at her and releases a tormented howl, as if Clarke— hurt its feelings?

Seeing that she can cash in on the creature’s emotions, Clarke goes on.

“Let him go, please let him go!” she begs and it all feels too familiar, sort of like a déjà vu. “Please just let him go!”

Only then does Clarke truly lock eyes with the monster and she is taken aback by how green and emotional and _human_ they are. Like they belong in a girl’s face, not a beast’s.

“I know you,” she mutters and the creature flinches, looking away. “And you know me.” The beast’s silence is a deafening yes. “So please, if you know me, you know how much he means to me. He’s my best friend. Please let him go.”

The creature gazes into her blue eyes once more and now there is misunderstood pain. _You don’t get it_ , Clarke hears somewhere in the back of her mind.

“I might not get it but you are doing nothing to make me want to,” the blonde states harshly.

Bellamy is witnessing the whole conversation, a deep frown in his forehead, noticing the strange connection between girl and beast.

That’s when the latter decides it’s done talking and returns its attention to the man, lifting him off the floor by his neck, its claws resting cuttingly against the tender skin.

“Please stop!” Clarke yells, tears beginning to blur her vision. “You don’t have to do this! I know you’re not like this!”

The creature avoids her gaze. _You know nothing_.

“I know that I know you.” The sincerity and despair in Clarke’s voice are such that the beast is forced to finally look back at her.

And oh does its will falter, do its legs feel weaker, do its eyes glimmer with unshed tears, does its heart skip a beat.

Clarke feels it too, the connection. The tether between them, linking their souls like one. She knows there is more to that horrendous creature than meets the eye. She knows its heart is more like its eyes than its deformed body.

So she falls on her knees, giving herself to the monster entirely. She’s at its mercy.

“Please, Lexa…”

 

_Yes, that’s her forgotten lover’s name._

If the flinch is any indication, the monster recognises the name. Reacts to it. Its eyes run away from Clarke’s own because of it.

“Please. I know you are good.”

_It’s best that you forget about me._

The beast slits Bellamy’s throat, the blood spattering onto its fur.

Clarke lets out a horrific cry, the scars in her eyes deepening into running tears that burn in her cheeks.

When she looks up again, there’s nothing but hatred in her gaze. She launches herself forward in order to attack the beast, meaning to hurt it if nothing else by sheer power of will.

The beast does not move and lets her attack, her punches and kicks falling flat on thick fur and unmoving sorrow.

“I hate you so much,” Clarke spits out in tears. “So much.”

_I wish you would._

Clarke forces her eyes shut, trying to contain the tears. “As do I.”

As the last ghost joins the others over her shoulders, she suddenly remembers everything about that day. The consecutive meetings with the creature. Monty, Jasper, Octavia, Raven and now Bellamy dying.

The way the beast’s green eyes feel on hers, like fingers on skin, like lips against lips, like cheeks between thighs.

The beast must feel it too because for the second time tonight, it envelops Clarke in an adoring embrace.

This time, though, her neck doesn’t snap.

Instead, the creature pulls away abruptly and the girl sees the deep conflict and doubt in its eyes. Then it dawns on her like a hundred bricks.

The beast is meant to kill. Kill her friends because it kills her. Kill _her_ because it kills the beast. Again and again and again as some kind of sick torture. A curse.

The creature shuts its eyes harshly and after sparing Clarke a last pained glance, punches a hole in the wall and runs away into the night.

“I can’t keep on losing you,” Clarke mutters under her breath and stands up, setting off into the dark after the beast.

 

_Yes, that’s the beast’s name._

 

A howling moan tells her she’s close and where to run.

She gets to the edge of a lake, the moonlight her only guide, and sees a body on the other side of the water.

“Lexa!” she calls out, reaching out to the creature that she is no longer sure is really a beast. In her dreams, it was just a girl.

“Lexa!” she tries again and this time is answered with a cry and she can’t tell whether it’s human or beast.

She decides not to wait for another answer and jumps into the lake, the freezing water piercing her bones and hindering her every move.

Each stroke is a battle but she eventually gets to the other side.

She sets her palms on the dirt, pushing herself up, her clothes drenched and dripping, her hair soaked in mud as much as water. “Lexa,” she breathes out in a stutter. “Please.”

She doesn’t even know what she’s asking for but feels it’s something important.

“Stay away from me!”

The voice is deep, rough and snarly, but still a human voice and no longer an animal’s growl.

Clarke’s eyes adjust to the new kind of darkness and only then does she notice the small figure lying defeated on leaves and branches, still as hairy as before, but shaped like a girl. It also has hair and more human-like features, along with the first traces of clothes.

She steps forward, her fingers yearning to find the texture of the creature-girl’s fur.

A bare-teethed growl makes her pull away. “I said stay away from me,” the gnarling voice repeats.

Clarke gulps down her fear. “I’m not— I’m not giving up on you, Lexa,” she speaks tentatively.

“Stop using that name. You don’t know who I am.”

Every memory comes flooding back, not just tonight, but _everything_. The eyes, the lips, the hair, the tongue, the fingers, the ink, the kisses, the touches, the embraces. The calm to her storm, the silence to her thunder, the mate to her soul, the Lexa to her Clarke.

“Yes I do,” Clarke insists and now tears pool at her eyes. “You’re her.”

The creature-girl raises its gaze for the first time and Clarke feels her heart clench at the sight of those beautiful green eyes.

These are not like her dreams though, simmering with happiness and hope for the future. These are sad and scarred, resentful of the past, afraid of the present and disbelieving of the future.

“I was her,” the creature-girl says in a low, dejected voice. “Now I’m this… thing. A monster, as you so well described it.”

Clarke shakes her head vigorously. “Lexa, I didn’t—“

“Stop calling me that!” the creature-girl roars.

“No. I will call you that because that’s your name,” Clarke presses. “Because you’re not that thing, you’re her. You’re you. You’re the love of my life,” tears are threatening to fall again. “And I don’t know how I could ever forget you or how I felt because just seeing you now, hearing your voice, is enough to make my heart stop; but I’m here now and I remember you and our love and I know you — damn it, Lexa, I _know_ you — and I need you. And you’re so beautiful that just by looking at you I feel happy. You’re just so, so beautiful and I love you so much.”

Clarke props herself on her knees next to her lover, head hanging low, at the creature’s mercy.

“You still think I’m beautiful like this?” the doubtful voice asks.

Clarke smiles faintly. “To me you’re beautiful in every shape and form.”

“You forgot me.”

And Clarke can’t keep her tears at bay anymore because the abandon in her lover’s voice crushes her. “I’m sorry,” she whispers forlornly.

“I almost forgot you too.” It’s a guilt-ridden confession and it makes Clarke reach out for furry, clawy hands.

“I love you.”

At this, her lover takes the hands away from Clarke’s and steps back, afraid of hurting her. “It’s a curse. I could kill you. I probably will if you don’t run away right now.”

Clarke shakes her head decidedly. “No, Lexa, we’re in this together.”

“Please leave and protect yourself for me.”

“No way.”

The creature-girl looks down, jaw clenched, and back at Clarke. She simply nods her agreement.

“You should know, nevertheless, that I am what I am… Clarke.”

The thing she loves most in the world — her name on her lover’s lips. How she closes the ‘a’ and clicks the ‘k’. How intimate and reverential it sounds and feels. Like it’s something sacred.

Still, Clarke rolls her eyes and suddenly it feels like they’re back to routine. It feels good, meant to be. “I told you: I am not leaving you here.”

Lexa nods and leans back, letting the blonde examine her.

Clarke’s eyes widen at how bruised the girl’s body is. She finds comfort in the fact that the fur is diminishing.

“What happened, Lexa?” She loves saying her lover’s name.

“It’s a curse, Clarke. I sleep in an eternal nightmare for a whole year. In exchange, every Halloween night a new group visits the house and I get to feast on them.” She pauses at the sight of the blonde’s disturbed expression. “I can’t help it, Clarke. I killed _you_ three times and I love you. Resisting this last time took greater effort than anything else I’ve done in my entire life.”

Clarke takes off her shirt and dips it in the water. She returns to Lexa’s side and starts cleaning her almost-devoid-of-furs face. With each brush of the cloth, the girl’s skin becomes cleaner and more like her true self.

“Why me now?” Clarke asks, not stopping her work.

“Maybe they have grown tired of me.”

“Who’s they?”

“I have no idea. All I know is what I have to do and that this time somehow you showed up and I had to kill you three times and never before had I felt so much like a monstrosity,” Lexa explains, her tone tortured. “You have to believe me when I say I didn’t mean to do any of that, Clarke. Any of that.”

“You killed my friends.”

“I couldn’t control myself.”

Clarke takes her hand and starts cleaning it gently. “Somehow, I can’t bring myself to hate you or love you any less.”

Lexa heaves a regretful sigh. “I know. But I believe maybe now we can go back.”

Clarke’s gaze meets Lexa’s and she can’t help the hope shining in the middle of the ocean. “Back to what?”

“Back to the real world, Clarke.”

The hair is now reduced to the hands, which have taken full human form.

Clarke cups Lexa’s cheeks in her hands and locks gazes with the brunette. “Whatever happens, I’m not forgetting you again,” she promises.

“You should, though. I’m a monster. Here I am, looking at your lips, thinking of kissing you, and the hunger is creeping up my stomach. I have to control myself so much… This is no life, Clarke. I could lose control at any moment and kill you.”

Clarke rubs the cloth up Lexa’s arms, chest and neck, washing the dirt away. “I’ll take that risk.”

With that, she curls her hand around Lexa’s neck, fingers playing with the baby hairs at the nape of the brunette’s head. Slowly, giving her time to pull back, she pulls the girl in.

Their lips meet halfway.

 

* * *

  

_There is nothing like the taste of her lips. Lexa’s lips._

_Lexa, Lexa, Lexa, Lexa._

_Everything is Lexa._

 

Clarke jerks awake and looks around.

“No,” she mumbles in despair. “No, no, no, no, no.”

The cry that leaves her lungs is guttural, hollow, haunting.

Where is Lexa? She wants Lexa. She needs Lexa. She needs—

Her eyes finally catch on to the tall figure in the hall where she sat with her friends four times, where four ghosts creep behind her shoulders.

A tall, large, furry and furious creature huffs in and out, its breaths heavy and hoarse. It takes her some moments to remember that’s not just a beast — it’s Lexa. Her Lexa. The one Clarke promised she would never again forget.

“Lexa…” she tries, but the girl in the body of a monster does not move an inch, her piercing green eyes still carefully boring into Clarke’s own.

Even in that monstrous form, the blonde can’t help thinking Lexa is beautiful. There is a beauty to be admired even in her bestiality.

She knows Lexa is not entirely and consciously herself now, though. She can see it in the way she holds herself, undoubting of her goal: to get her last meal of the day. And that would be Clarke.

This time, the eater sought out the meal, perhaps tired of waiting for her prey to come to her.

The blonde circles her lover, looking to get to the other side of the room. Lexa merely follows her with her eyes.

An idea starts to shape up in Clarke’s mind.

She has tried being killed and a demonstration of affection. This is her last resort.

“Come and get me,” she dares, her defying stare daggering at Lexa.

Her lover does gladly so, launching herself viciously towards Clarke, completely stripped of any semblance of volition.

Clarke turns her back momentarily and faces Lexa again at the last minute, hitting her head with the big mirror on the wall.

The last thing she sees is the mirror breaking into the creature’s head and millions of shards scattering all over, some piercing Clarke’s own skin and eliciting a painful cry from the blonde, matched only by the beast’s excruciating howl.

 

* * *

  

_What she loves most is her kindness. How selfless it is. How reverential, respectful and adoring it is._

_How gentle and soft she is when they merge into one another._

_How much she loves Lexa and how much Lexa loves her._

“Clarke, wake up. It’s Halloween.”

She groans and buries her face deeper into her pillow. “Just five more minutes, Mom…”

“You got the ages wrong, pretty girl.”

She finally lifts her head off the pillow and chances a look at she who dared ruin her sleep. Her lips break into a pleased grin. They’re back as if no time had passed. The grin widens. “Good morning, beautiful.”

Lexa smiles. “Good morning, Clarke.”

Clarke twirls her finger around a loose brown curl. “I love you so much.”

The door opens suddenly and Octavia is launching herself onto the bed with as much violence as she can convey into the action.

“Time to get ready, bitches!” the girl exclaims with a big smile.

Clarke heaves a sigh of relief at the sight of the tiny brunette. She’s here. And if the younger Blake is here—

“Leave the Princess and her bride alone, O,” Bellamy scolds, showing up by the door. Clarke’s happiness can barely be contained.

“I hate to break it to you, freckles, but Octavia is right,” Raven shows up in all her complaining glory. “The lovebirds have to hurry up, Monty and Jasper are waiting for us outside.”

It’s time for Lexa to intervene and interrupt the budding madness in their bedroom. “All of you, leave now,” she snarls and the three intruders immediately stop talking. “Give us twenty minutes and we will be outside.”

Raven brings her hand to her forehead, gesturing continence. “Yes, Commander.”

The three of them leave the couple alone and as soon as Lexa has closed the door behind them, Clarke throws her arms around the brunette’s neck.

“I love it when you snarl,” she teases, kissing her lips.

Lexa rolls her eyes. “They were disturbing us, Clarke.”

“Hey, I didn’t complain,” the blonde laughs. “I love it when you get all authoritative and snarly like an angry puppy.”

Now Lexa groans. “We are not having this conversation again, Clarke. I am not a puppy.”

The blonde grins widely and kisses her chastely and tenderly. “Okay, Lexa.”

The brunette rolls her eyes. It’s a lost battle.

Clarke wonders, though. She wonders if Lexa remembers.

It makes sense that the brunette would be the one forgetting this time, she deserves that, especially seeing that Clarke forgot her before.

If only Lexa knew that Clarke had to kill her to bring her back to life. To their life. Yes, maybe it is better that she has forgotten.

Still, Clarke selfishly wishes that Lexa remembered.

“We actually have to get ready, Jasper wants to take us to this party at his girlfriend’s house,” Clarke says, shaking the awful memories away.

“I know, Clarke. I heard the first hundred times.”

The blonde grins at her girlfriend, who cannot keep her serious front any longer. “You’re such a cutie.”

Lexa smiles and gazes into Clarke’s blue eyes with renewed intensity. “In case I ever forgot to say it back— I love you too, Clarke.”

The blonde can’t hold it anymore and hugs Lexa. She pulls back to press a loving kiss to her lips. They rest their foreheads together, breathing in and out; glad for all the time they still have left.

Lexa might not remember but Clarke always will.

Clarke breaks the embrace and heads to the door, meaning to take a shower.

Fingers curl around her wrist at the last moment, forcing her to turn around and face Lexa, who pulls her close to her again.

This is the woman she loves, beautiful, gentle and caring, like a cherry blossom caressed by the light summer breeze.

All Clarke sees are those big green eyes, as fascinating and beautiful as they are disturbing. Almost blue in the dark, almost grey when they are sad. Engulfed by gold when she loves and desires.

Now they are stripped of everything but the truth and something else. Something that takes meaningful shape in Lexa’s next words.

“Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was kinda nuts, wasn't it?


End file.
